The Fugitive
by Anagaby02
Summary: Mr.Leonard Mead a regular citizen in an advanced society discovers something astounding that soons haunts his past. Will he be able to cope with it?


Please note, I do not own this storyline. With exception to a few characters, all other characters and plot are based on the short story "The Pedestrian" and belong to Ray Bradbury.

The fugitive

Soon, after the command was given by the robotic voice coming from inside the vehicle, I immediately realized my next move. So, I ran looking for my freedom and my rights. As I ran, my life was passing right in front of my eyes; my cherished memories were all coming back to me. Emotions, who I once thought were left behind, locked in some box and buried within my soul, were taunting me. Now I did not only run from the police but from my past. Tears, like drops of wax, flowed from my eyes, obstructing my eyesight and stopping me from running after a reasonably amount of time.

I continued to walk, observing the unflustered neighborhood, analyzing the flaws of what was supposed to be a "flawless" society, while coming to a realization. After years of walking solo in the night, I have never been to this particular neighborhood. Houses were different and so were their patios; unmowed and flowerless. The environment seem exceedingly lonely, fully unalike to the others districts. No TVs shadows or TVs sounds were coming from inside of any house. There wasn't any human sign. So, the houses were completely abandoned. How could this be possible? Approximately, a hundred of houses were abandoned. Where did all of the families go to? Hundreds of people aren't easy to hide, so where did they go? Is it possible the government had something to do with it? Studying the previous thoughts was a complete waste of my nonexistent time, or so it seemed.

The front door of a normal suburb house opened without any trouble. As I let myself in, I noticed the multiple pictures and the books around the place. Pictures of a big family were hung around the gray walls and books of all sizes and shapes were left open all over the place; as if people were coming back to read them. There was no such thing as a TV. In many aspects; particularly on the humanitarian aspect, this house and my house were rarely similar. I felt the sensation of "home" while walking around and observing the many similar objects displayed. My eyes weren't accustomed to seeing this many exotic items, some I thought I'd never seen them again. Teers were accumulating again. My thoughts never leaving me. I wondered, was I intended to come here? Is this my destiny? Maybe, maybe not, but what I discovered next left me astounded.

As I walked upstairs to the next level of the house, my eyes couldn't stop seeing the multiple pictures. The pictures could visually describe the family as united, loyal and loving to one another. This concept was really unfamiliar, it has been a long time since I ever cared for someone, until it passed away. The memory is still fresh, as it has been yesterday. Despite the many mentalbreakdows over the course of the years, I had strength to continue. Never stopping, having faith in someday seeing my children. There has been dark times, when hysteria has controlled me, driving me into doing the "undesirable".

It took me a few moments to realize what I was holding in my hands. The letters were barely readable, the paper was rough and yellowish, burned from the edges. It was clear the paper I was holding in my hands was old and left unintentionally on the house. It must have fallen from a soldier when earth was falling apart and us, citizens being oppressed into adjusting to the new law. My right hand was shaking and so was the rest of my body. To read such inhuman list I adjusted my eyes. The paper that I was currently contemplating, responsible for my current fear, was a list of hundreds of crossed out people, every single name in the list crossed out. This people were taken by the government, the purpose was unclear but still, it sure was something that tortured them. Reading the list outload was a challenge that I failed to accomplish, instead I started to hyperventilate. I placed the paper where it belonged; in the top of a nightstand, while my body was full adrenaline. I turned around, fully prepared to leave, when a cop I couldn't recognize was standing in front of me pointing at me with his gun.

BANG BANG!


End file.
